


all nearness pauses

by tamana



Series: Otayuri for the soul [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A truly gratuitous amount of finger sucking, Anal sex is eventually had, And finger fucking, Barebacking, Come as Lube, Filth, First Time, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Pet Names, Pretty much just Yuri getting wrecked, Shades of praise kink, Spit As Lube, and not much else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamana/pseuds/tamana
Summary: For a brief moment, he feels the frantic beat of his heart skidding faster, each pulse tripping over the next, and considers jumping out the window. Better to die than embarrass myself in front of Beka, he thinks.He discards the idea only because 1) they’re on the first floor, 2) he’s not a fucking quitter, and 3) he really, really wants to get fucked tonight.





	

It’s quiet as Otabek shuts the door, and Yuri easily hears the snick of the lock turning, can almost see it in his mind’s eye in slow motion, like a clock dragging its hand to twelve, drawing him closer to the edge of a cliff.

For a brief moment, he feels the frantic beat of his heart skidding faster, each pulse tripping over the next, and considers jumping out the window. _Better to die than embarrass myself in front of Beka,_ he thinks.

He discards the idea only because 1) they’re on the first floor, 2) he’s not a fucking quitter, and 3) he really, really wants to get fucked tonight.

He’s still scolding himself – _Stop being silly, Yuri –_ when Otabek turns and smiles at him, and he knows with a bone deep certainty that he could never bring himself to do anything that will make that smile fade. _That’s reason number four,_ he thinks, and lets calm wash over him and straighten his spine, centering him. The bed is the rink, and he will own it tonight.

 

 

An hour later, they’re both in bed, and Yuri finds himself in a state of confused half-arousal.

_We’re still clothed,_ he things dazedly, _and listening to music._ Otabek is a warm bulk beside the length of his body, and this near, he can smell the scent of his aftershave. While Otabek’s busy looking down at his phone, flipping intently through tracks, Yuri stares at the side of his neck and wonders if he’ll even get to kiss it tonight. Furiously, he turns his head away and wills himself to calm down, inhaling sharply, but then _that damn aftershave –_

He screws his eyes shut and prays that he doesn’t look half as sullen as he feels. When he opens them, Otabek is looking at him, a fond smile and a question on his lips.

“Bored, Yura?”

He narrows his eyes at the thought. “Never with you,” he says, and means it. He’s restless with frustration, but he doesn’t think he could ever be bored doing something that Otabek so obviously enjoys.

Except Otabek had implied that they could finally try exploring sex tonight, and he did not suffer the embarrassment of getting the sex talk from Katsudon this morning _,_ – totally unnecessary, because he is not an idiot and googled it years ago and has become very intimate with his prostate, so _thanks very much Katsu, for putting us through 20 minutes of hell we did not need_ – he did not endure the fumbling _I think you will discover, Yurio, that lube is your best friend,_ and the unending horror of Viktor’s completely unwelcome _do you know where your prostate is, because you need to know where it is,_ only to be cock-blocked by a Spotify playlist. But he is an adult now, he reminds himself, and he will not jump into depravity with Otabek if he is unwilling. So he grits his teeth, jams the earphone deeper into his ear, and faces Otabek.

In the dim light of the room, the shadows lend themselves lovingly to the angles of Otabek’s face. It is unfair how gorgeous he is, he thinks. He wants to reach out and touch, but he’s afraid that if he does, he might never stop, so he curls his hands and forces them on the bed.

In his ear, the bass builds, a heady beat, and he feels his heart thud with it. Otabek’s still looking at him, that gentle smile on his face that he _needs_ to kiss, so badly he wants to cry at the sharp ache of it, and something must show on his face, because Otabek’s smile is blooming, and he feels something in his chest crash and crack wide open at the sight of it, then he’s leaning into Yuri –

And Yuri feels the wild beating of his heart go faster, because Otabek’s not stopping, coming nearer and nearer, almost too close now, and he feels his eyes slipping shut, _yes, finally, yes –_

There are fingers curling around his chin and tilting his face up now _,_ warm breath spilling over his mouth _,_ he can taste it already, wants that mouth on his, wants a tongue inside him, wants to lose all breath as he sucks on it _, wants Beka, just Beka, please –_  

Then the warm breath moves, slipping to the side, and he feels a chaste kiss pressed to his cheek, and _forget about killing himself_ , he thinks, _he’s going to kill Beka_. The fucker’s laughing now, tiny gusts against his cheek, and he’s mid-way to growling, but Otabek’s stopped laughing and leaning quickly into Yuri – “I’ve got you, Yura, hush –”

Then there are lips on his lips, a tongue in his mouth sliding against his, and he _melts_. He will never get bored of kissing Otabek, he thinks, and moans into the kiss. Their breaths are shared now, hot and wet. He doesn’t want this to end, needs it too much – but then Otabek’s pulling away, and he feels outraged. _No,_ he thinks, and pulls Otabek back, kissing him and sucking his tongue back into his mouth. _Mine._ A minute later, he is too dazed from the slick curl of Otabek's tongue around his to protest when he pulls away and tugs at the bottom of his sweater.

“Yura, I was thinking, if you feel ready –”

Yuri blinks up at him from where he has fallen on the bed, and thinks, _yes._ “ _Yes.”_

There’s that damn quirk in his mouth again, “I haven’t finished –”

“I don’t care. It’s a yes all the way.” He sits up and begins to lift his shirt up, fighting impatience as it catches on his chin, “I was ready last year, Beka.”

There’s a pause as Otabek considers him carefully, then he’s shucking his sweater off, and his shirt and trousers quickly follow to the floor. Yuri has him beat by a couple of seconds.

“We’ll need lube –” and he’s turning to the bedside drawer, rooting in it –

“And condoms,” and Yuri’s face whips away from the drawer to Otabek’s face, searching.

“I’m clean, Beka. I’ve never done it before with anyone.”

“I have,” Otabek’s voice is slow and careful, “Yura –”

“When was the last time you did it?” His mind is racing impatiently, he knows it can’t have been recently, Otabek wouldn’t cheat on him, and he follows whatever online presence Otabek has religiously, has done so since Barcelona, so he knows there was no one special just before they got their act together and finally figured out they were dating.

“More than a year ago, not since we –”

“What about your tests then? I know you’re clean, Beka. You would’ve said something.”

“Clean,” he confirms with a small tilt of his head, and then he pauses. “But Yura –” Yuri’s getting unaccountably impatient now.

“Beka, I trust you,” and even as he says it, he can see the argument building in Otabek’s eyes, so he breathes in and goes on, “it’ll be my first time, and I want–” he stutters, and presses on at the patient look from Otabek “– I want to feel you finish inside me.” 

There’s a quick intake of breath, and he knows the fight is over. But Yuri did not become who he is by sitting on his victories, so he presses his advantage, dropping his voice meaningfully, “I’ve dreamt about it, Beka. Your come inside me, I know it’ll feel good. _Please, Beka.”_ It’s the killing blow, and he knows it.

Otabek has him pushed back to the bed and stripped of his briefs in what feels like half a heartbeat. “Lube,” he reminds Otabek. “In the drawer.”

The bed dips and he hears the rustle of his drawer as Otabek searches, then a pause as he raises a bottle into the light and studies it.

“It’s empty.”

He feels his heart stutter in his chest. _Fuck, how could he forget?_

“Fuck.” He should’ve just killed himself earlier, he realizes. He sits up and tries to catch Otabek's gaze. “Beka, please, we can still do it.”

“Yura, it’s your first time.” His voice is patient, reasoning, but Yuri feels like he could scream. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, Beka,” he pleads, and hushes the frantic voice of Yuuri in his mind, screaming _lube is a boy’s best friend!_ “I’ve seen porn –” he starts and backtracks because even he knows that will never be a convincing argument, “– I’ve read things, and I’ve tried stuff with my fingers, Beka –” his voice has turned thin, desperate, and he can’t bring himself to care, not now, when he’s so close, “– I’ve done it with my fingers without, without lube, Beka, just spit, and I know I can take it. We can go slow, please –”

And Otabek finally bends and gives in, kneeling between Yuri’s legs and kissing him. Yuri kisses back hungrily, pulling him down into the bed and on top of him, dazed at getting his way. “But we’ll have to go slow,” Otabek says between kisses. Yuri has never nodded so fervently in his life.

Then Otabek’s sitting up, letting Yuri’s arms fall away from where they’ve wrapped around his neck, and he feels something change in the air abruptly as Otabek gazes down at him, spread out on the bed. 

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, Yura.” It’s not a request, he knows, and he nods up at Otabek. “We can stop any time. There’ll be time another day.” There’s a frown marring his face as he considers Yuri, and then he’s nodding, decision made.

He bends down and takes Yuri’s ankle in his hand and raises it to rest on his shoulder. His thumb rests on the inside, rubbing circles into the skin, and then there is a brush of lips against the skin, and it sends a bolt of heat down Yuri‘s spine, making his body tense and lock up in a quick spasm.

Otabek shushes him from where he’s pressing light kisses against his skin. He doesn’t think he’ll ever look at his ankles the same way ever again.

The pleasant tingling simmers down like molten wax as Otabek’s lips trail down the raised length of his legs: _down, down, down_ –

Yuri can feel his body thrumming, heat spreading like waves from each epicenter of a kiss that Otabek lays against him –

Down further still to the inside of his thighs – and Yuri feels the breath catch in his throat and stutter. It’s a wetter heat, now, as tongue joins lips against his skin. _God, Beka, please._ His mind’s one endless stream of pleading now.

He feels a smile pressed into his skin.

And then there’s the harsh scrape of teeth, the gentle nip against his skin forcing the rest of his breath out in a rush, mouth tugged open helplessly. “You’re so sensitive.” It’s a soft, low murmur against his skin, approving, and his hands come down to where Otabek’s head is resting between his legs. They slide up into his hair and tangle into the strands, the weight of his head a soothing anchor for him. “I like it.” Yuri shivers.

Another wet kiss, then Otabek’s sucking a bruise into his skin, the bloom of mingled heat and pain too sudden for Yuri. His body seizes in a furious arc against the bed, his hands falling away to claw at the sheets. Otabek shushes him once more, nuzzling deeper, pressing his face harder into the planes of Yuri’s thigh. It takes a beat and a half for Yuri to shudder and fall back to the bed, limp.

Otabek lets out a laugh, and that gust of moist heat against his thigh should make Yuri snarl in fury, it really should because how dare Otabek laugh when Yuri can barely seem to breathe. But inexplicably what comes out is a soft whine. Yuri wants to kill himself. He shuts his eyes as if that will stem the tide of humiliation he feels at that, but he feels the wet heat of Otabek’s tongue sliding higher and higher against the inside of his thigh and they fly open again.

“Beka,” he whispers carefully.

He feels Otabek tilt his head up and raise his eyes to where Yuri has sat up. He’s staring down at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

“Yura,” Otabek’s voice is low and even. There’s the slightest quirk of his lips, and then, keeping his eyes locked with Yuri’s, he lowers his mouth back to Yuri’s skin and drags his tongue up to where his thighs meet – Yuri’s body seizes, and he feels a rush like falling. He feels like he’s breaking apart, every part of him wrenched open and laid bare for Otabek.

Hands slide up against the inside of his thighs, and then they’re slowly pushed apart, his feet dragging against the sheets as they slide open. Then the hands are pressing his spread thighs down against the sheets, and he has to bring an arm up against his mouth because he’s moaning now, _Oh God, Beka_ – the tongue is sliding up higher and pressing harder,  and then Otabek’s mouthing his balls, and his thighs spread impossibly farther apart.

There’s so much heat now, Yuri thinks it’s a wonder he hasn’t melted and made an embarrassment of himself.

He doesn’t know that he’s closed his eyes again until he’s opened them when he feels a pressure against his mouth and sees two of Otabek’s fingers. They’re thick and calloused, and so, so warm. A gentle weight against his mouth, steady. _As expected from Beka,_ he thinks almost absently.

Then his mouth is sliding open, almost a reflex, letting the fingers slide in, and the weight of them on his tongue feels so right that the moan slips out of him without any fight. His eyes fall shut of their own volition, and as the salt of Otabek’s skin registers, his mouth waters, and his tongue slides against the fingers. He’s hollowing his mouth and sucking, lost in the unexpected but singular pleasure of having his mouth stuffed full, and full of Beka- before he remembers himself and opens his eyes.

Otabek has pulled himself up, his mouth fallen open, chest falling in and out in harsh breaths. Yuri is glad of this – proof that he is not alone in being so affected by these touches.  The weight of his stare to where Yuri has his mouth wrapped around his fingers is heavy, almost hungry. He moans, low and filthy, the sound wet and muffled as it slides past the fingers in his mouth.

Otabek’s gaze is pinned to the slow pump of his fingers in and out of Yuri. His thumb comes up to brush the corner of Yuri’s mouth, and he leans into the touch. He feels content in the moment, his eyes falling shut again, his tongue tracing lazy figures against Otabek’s fingers.  He feels saliva building in the insides of his mouth, and as the fingers curl and press down into his tongue, then slide slowly out with a dirty slick sound and then back in, out and in again, some of it drips out the corner of his mouth. There’s a muted thought that he should be disgusted, but a part of him thrills at the dirty feel of it, at the thought of letting Otabek in, and Otabek making an utter mess of him. 

He feels the fingers being tugged out, Otabek’s arm pulling away, and he whines. His hands shoot up and clamp down on Otabek’s arm, keeping his fingers inside. He narrows his eyes at Otabek, giving his fingers a long slow suck that is meant to be pointed and disgruntled, but feels desperate by its completion. Unreasonably, he feels denied, unanchored by the thought of losing this connection to Otabek. The needy feeling is strong and sudden, and he is terrified by it. Or he would, if it were anyone but Otabek.

“ _Shhhh_ ,” there’s the soft susurrus of Otabek’s breath against his ear, his free hand coming up to cradle his neck, fingers brushing the hair at the base of his head. “Yura, you’re doing so well.”

It’s inexplicable, how Otabek’s voice settles him, makes the voices in his head quiet. The thumb that’s been resting against his mouth presses deeper, unrelenting against the vertex, then they’re pressing in and down, until Yuri’s mouth is jerked open in a wet gasp. Yuri feels his brows drawing in together in dissatisfaction, as Otabek’s fingers slip free in one long slow slide against his tongue. It hovers just outside, Yuri watching as a thick strand of saliva follows it, stretching and stretching, until it breaks as Otabek brings the two fingers in, together with the thumb, rubbing them intently, checking that they’re wet and slick enough.

“You're being so good, Yura,” he presses a kiss against Yuri’s temple, and though Yuri can’t see it, he can feel the smile in the kiss. “But we need to get you wet now.” And Yuri shudders at the meaning. "Get you ready for me."

The heat against his side disappears as Otabek lowers himself back down between Yuri’s legs, and he feels his thighs fall open once more. He lowers his back to the bed and tries to take in slow and deep breaths. He feels broken open already, breathless, and he suddenly feels dizzy at the idea of what’s coming.

He’s touched himself, before, of course. He’s heard enough from the other skaters ( _Victor and Yuuri_ , his mind supplies just to be contrary) to have been curious enough to explore himself. And he’s certainly touched himself enough to know that the press of fingers inside him will be welcome. He knows he comes hardest when he has something hard and heavy gripped in his mouth or his ass. But this is the first time that he’ll be doing it with someone else. That it is Beka makes his heart race faster, his legs fall open further and faster.

As Otabek’s hands press into the flesh of his ass and spread them apart, he feels his breath leave him.

_I want this_ , he thinks. _Oh God. I want this_ –

There’s the first press of fingers against his opening, Beka saying _God, you’re beautiful. You’re so_ – _let me, Yura, let me open you up_ -

And then fingers pressing in, a mouth kissing into the place where they’re joined, then licking into him, beside the finger, and it’s too much, he can’t breathe –

“Beka, please,” he’s begging now, pleading for something he can’t put to words, his hands grasping at the sheets aimlessly, and one finger becomes two, the pressure thicker suddenly, sliding deeper and crooking up, and he feels a weightless rush as his mouth falls open in a soundless scream, his body bowing almost painfully.

His heart is still shuddering against his chest when he comes down and feels a hand sliding into one of the hands he’s clawed into the bed, slotting into the grooves perfectly, pressing them together and then down into the sheets.

Otabek’s mouthing at the inside of his thighs again – he’s going to have a ridiculous set of hickeys down there, _proof of Otabek laying claim to his body_ , he thinks, and then tries to stamp down the flush of pleasure he gets at the thought. His fingers have stilled where they’re still inside Yuri, but Yuri remains hyperaware of their presence. Already he feels the heat spreading afresh from where they’re joined, and he would be embarrassed at how eager and desperate that makes him seem, but he looks down at Otabek and forgets to care.

There’s the warm brush of air again as he feels Otabek speak into his skin.

“You look pretty when you come, Yura.” He feels stupid at how pleased that makes him, so he swats at Otabek’s head.

“Shut up, Beka.”

“It’s the truth, though.” He feels the flush of pleasure spread and settle into his bones, despite all efforts.

“Yura,” there’s a light nip on his skin, then – “You’re pretty when my fingers are inside you –” and then the fingers are moving again, steady and deep, purposeful. “Getting you all wet and loose for me.”

Yuri’s gasping now, thankful for the grip of Otabek’s hand where it’s holding his hand down into the bed, strong and unyielding.

“Beka,” he grits out. “If you don’t stop calling me pretty, I’ll-“

He wails then, as the fingers inside him rub into that spot that sends electricity up his spine, and then keeps rubbing there. “You asshole,” he wants it growling, but his voice comes out broken and pleading.

“Yura,” Otabek calls him. His head is tipped back, his eyes open but unseeing, but he knows the bastard is smiling one of his gentle smiles, can almost see the indulgent curve to it; can hear it in his voice, “But Yura, what’s wrong with being pretty?”

The fingers have slowed down even more now, but they’re pressing much harder into that spot, almost as if to make a point.

“Yura, some of the strongest people I know are pretty.” Another kiss to where his fingers are buried in Yuri, then the fingers are sliding out with a soft wet pop. He doesn’t even think to stop the whine that leaves him at the emptiness.

“And you’re the strongest one of them, kitten.”  A kiss and a bite, then his hips fly off the bed when the fingers shove back in one quick stroke, pressing and _pressing_ into that spot unforgivingly, and he feels more wetness land on his stomach as he comes another time.

It feels an eternity as he lies there limp, trying to catch his breath and willing his heart to calmness. He feels the bed dip as Otabek comes up to lie beside him, and feels unspeakably empty without the insistent press of Otabek’s fingers inside him.

A hand comes up to his stomach as he lies there, and starts rubbing the come into his skin. He takes it and brings it into his mouth, moaning as he tastes himself mixed with the salt of Otabek’s skin.

The huff of Otabek’s laugh is cool against the side of his face. “Still hungry, kitten?”

The way his minds jolts at the name and his mouth goes lax around his fingers must not go unnoticed, because there’s something heavy in his voice when he next speaks.

“You like it when I call you kitten?” He feels warmth bloom in his face, slow and gradual. He thinks briefly about huffing and denying it, or pushing Otabek away, as he feels a hot curl of embarrassment sliding up his neck. But then a hand slips into his and squeezes gently, and he finds himself nodding, soft but unmistakable. He feels another quick squeeze around his hand, and decides he feels pleased about his admission. Satisfied, he goes back to sucking on the fingers. The hand gripping his leaves then and starts carding into his hair.

“What about when I call you perfect?” He slits an eye open then, staring at Otabek pointedly, as if to say, _is it even necessary to ask?_  The look earns him another laugh, gusted softly against the side of his neck.

“Pretty, then?” A pause, before he slowly lowers his gaze and gives a small nod. As if to make up for this one concession, he gives a vicious suck on the fingers before letting them slip out of his mouth in one final slide. The wet sound it makes sounds loud in the still air around them, and it sends another dirty thrill up his spine.

Feeling suddenly as if he has bared too much too quickly, he turns his head to the side and lets go of Otabek’s hand.

“Yura,” he says the name carefully, and at once Yuri feels embarrassed and then furious with himself. “Yura, I’ll stop if you want.” A quick kiss to the side of his neck, and then he feels Otabek pull away to look at him in the eye. _Eyes of a soldier_ , he remembers Otabek telling him. But nothing compares to Otabek’s eyes, his gaze calm and sure, immeasurably comforting in its steadfastness. If he were a soldier, he thinks, he could swear fealty to Otabek and let him lead him anywhere, follow his every command.

“But you should know there’s nothing wrong with liking it.” The hand comes again to squeeze his, and he feels his hand curl in return, the embarrassment fading. The next breath he takes feels lighter. It is curious to him, how much power Otabek seems to have over him. More curious, how willing he is to let Otabek have that power.

His hand drifts down to play with the wetness left on his stomach, and Otabek watches him raise that hand and begin once again to suck on the come. _There is power in this, too_ , he thinks and hums around the fingers. There is power in the way he can hold Otabek’s gaze, make shadows build behind those eyes and press intent heavy on his shoulders, drag deep breaths from his chest, just from sucking on his fingers and splaying his thighs apart. There seems to be a different energy in Otabek now, in the way he is keeping himself carefully still. Hungry and intent, with none of the indulgent lightness from earlier. Yuri feels drunk on it, and he decides he likes it. 

Keeping his eyes locked on Otabek, feeling daring and breathless with it, he hooks one hand behind a knee and pulls. Otabek remains silent, but Yuri sees the way his nostrils flare and revels in it.

Then Otabek is crawling on top of him, and as Yuri enjoys the sight of Otabek finally, _finally,_ settled above him, Otabek begins to scoop some of the come into his fingers. His body thrums everywhere they touch.

“I was right, you know.” Curious, he lets his fingers stall where they’re pumping lazily in and out of his mouth.

“You look pretty with fingers inside you.”

And as Otabek props himself up on one elbow, he lets his hand trail down between Yuri’s legs, sliding to the rim of Yuri’s opening, where it’s red and puffy. The spit from before has mostly dried, but as he rubs come into the rim, it softens once more and gives with a slight push.

“Prettier when they’re my fingers,” then he’s pushing two fingers in at once, and Yuri must still be stretched open from before because they slide in with little resistance.

He drives them in and out, each slide easier than the last. Yuri’s legs have fallen open and stay pinned to the bed on their own, his mouth a similar open stretch, fingers forgotten, curled wetly against his mouth.

He only shuts his mouth with a click when Otabek pulls his fingers free, the unhappy curl of his mouth so charming that Otabek has to press a kiss to it.

“Relax, kitten. I just need you wetter,” and he’s scooping up more come and pressing three fingers in.

It’s instantly everything that Yuri has wanted and yet too much, and he’s keening, digging his heels restlessly against the sheets.

There’s a hand rubbing soothingly at his sides, and he’s aware that the fingers have stopped where they’re pressed inside him.

“Bekaaaa,” and he should be embarrassed at how easily he whines the name, drawing it out as if he’s helpless, but he’s only grateful for the kiss he gets pressed to the side of his neck, then to his temples and on the tops of his eyelids that have drawn shut over his eyes.

“You’re doing so well, kitten.” He hears. “you’re being so good for me.”

There’s another kiss now, on his mouth, and it deepens and deepens until he’s turning away because it feels like his lungs are burning.

“Yura,” he hears. “You good?” He feels a draft of cool air as Otabek lifts himself up, his hands braced on either side of Yuri’s face, “or do you want to stop?”

The glare that Yuri shoots him is so vicious he almost feels it like a bite to his face. “You stop now, Beka, and I will fucking bite your dick off.”

The cool, slow lift of a brow only makes Yuri growl. “That’s a no, then.” There’s the shadow of a pout threatening to form on Yuri’s face that Otabek would dearly love to kiss away, but then Yuri’s grabbing his hand and bringing it back between his legs.

Otabek hisses out a curse and drives his fingers back in.

“You love this, don’t you, Yura?” His fingers are almost punishing now, milking drawn out moans from Yuri.

“Fucking yourself on my fingers, moaning like you need it.” Yuri feels drunk on sensation, pushing his hips down almost mindlessly against Otabek’s fingers, begging for _more, Beka please I need more_ , and all at once Otabek’s patience frays and snaps.

“You’re perfect taking my fingers,” he pushes his fingers in a final time, rubs them furiously against Yuri’s prostate once, twice as he leans in next to Yuri’s ear. “But something tells me you’ll look even better taking my cock.” One last shove against his prostate, and Yuri’s hole is clamping down on his fingers, his body afire as he comes again.

He’s sobbing for air as Otabek gathers the come on his chest and stomach and slicks himself up, the slide of his hands around his cock quick and perfunctory as he takes in the sight of Yuri on the bed. He must be a flushed mess, littered with the ghost of bruises beginning to form from Otabek’s earlier attentions.

One beat turns into two, then he’s leaning over Yuri, moving one leg over his shoulder and hooking the other around his hip. Everywhere Yuri looks, there’s Otabek –  warm and ever steady, and he feels a novel feeling of rightness, a sense of things moving in him, rearranging and quietly slotting into place.

He can’t imagine any other person being allowed similar liberties with his body, and feels oddly jealous of the moment, then of the sudden intrusive thought of anybody ever having shared a moment like this with Otabek in the past. A frown steals across his face, the slightest furrowing in his brow, and Otabek’s stilled, asking him if he’s alright. _Silly Yuri,_ he chides himself, _so silly. Be grateful you’re so lucky._ So he tightens his legs around him and draws Otabek deeper into the cradle of his body.

Reassured, Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s forehead, and then pushes in.

Even with their earlier activities, it’s tight, and Otabek has to muffle a curse. He presses in slowly, each inch a careful study of Yuri’s face. _Too careful,_ he thinks. _I’m not going to break_. He hates the thought of Otabek holding himself back in any way; is grateful at the consideration, but angry all the same that it should be done on his account. He digs fingers into Otabek’s back and draws them down. “Asshole, I’d like to get fucked before the season ends.” There’s a disbelieving laugh, and then Otabek’s driving in the last couple of inches.

“Much better. Don’t you dare hold ba-“ his voices ends in a moan as Otabek bites into his neck and growls. This close, he can _feel_ the rumbles as they form in Otabek’s chest, and this breaks open what feels like the last of his walls, his own chest shuddering as he moans, unfiltered. His earlier bravado is forgotten now, his voice broken as he begs Beka to _move, move, dammit Beka, I can take it. Please –_

Never one to disappoint Yuri, Otabek pulls back and slams in. The rhythm builds up and turns punishing, as if he has lost the patience for a drawn out fuck. He goes deep and pushes in hard, each stroke punching out a cry from Yuri: _Beka, Beka, Beka_ –

It doesn’t take long to find that spot, and once he finds it, he aims for it with every thrust. Below him, Yuri gasps with every push and pull. When he feels his hand inch toward his cock, he gathers both his wrists in one hand and presses them over his head, his grip unmoving.

“Yura,” his words are bitten off now in quick breaths, timed with his thrusts. “You can come from my cock, can’t you?”

His free hand moves to Yuri’s hips and pulls him down to meet his thrusts, the surge of it electrifying, making Yuri twist in the sheets. “You’d look so pretty coming around my cock.”

And then he’s driving in impossibly deeper, once, twice, _thrice_ and then Yuri’s coming in a soundless scream. His feels his muscles tighten all round Otabek, and it doesn’t take long before he’s following Yuri, fucking into him in short aborted thrusts before spilling wet heat into Yuri.

He’s a boneless slump atop Yuri for a few blissed out seconds before he feels him soften and pull out carefully. Yuri hisses in spite of himself, and he can _see_ the apology form on Otabek’s lips, so he draws his arms around Otabek’s neck and pulls him closer. “Beka,” he whispers, “I feel soo empty.” He lets the pout form on his lips, and watches Otabek study his face for a moment. He wills himself to hold his gaze.

“I’m too empty, Beka,” he repeats. He sees Otabek’s gaze fall, down to to where his legs have remained softly open from when they fell away from Otabek, then to where his legs meet, where he can feel the slow slide of come as it drips from his hole to the sheets.

Then Otabek’s reaching down, fingers dipping, a brief curling tease in his hole, before they slip out – _so cruel,_ Yuri’s mind supplies hazily as his hole tightens around the fingers in a futile clutch – and then he’s scooping the come that’s slipped out and stuffing it back into Yuri with two of his fingers. Yuri sighs happily and tucks himself into Otabek’s side.

When he feels Otabek start to pull back, Yuri whines and stops his arm with a hard clench of his thighs. “Try to pull out and watch me cut your fingers off,” it’s not a growl, but it should be with how vicious it is.

“I’ve created a monster.” Otabek doesn’t seem to be dismayed, at all. The relaxed set of his shoulders and the easy light in his eyes suggest he is, in fact, the opposite.

He huffs and presses his face into Otabek’s neck, letting his eyes drift shut as Otabek tucks his head under his chin. “A _pretty_ monster.” He feels the laugh build in Otabek’s throat, warmth blanketing his body as it rumbles pleasantly over them.  

“Remind me to buy you a dildo for next time,” is what Otabek says, and the pillow to the face he gets for his trouble only startles more laughter out of him.

Yuri curls deeper into Otabek’s side and mouths _next time_ softly into Otabek’s throat, the thought a gentle starburst of pleasure lulling him to sleep.

 

 

End.


End file.
